


Fade to Black

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Dragons, F/M, Harlequin, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Non-Explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four different Batfamily-centered drabbles that follow the tried and true Harlequin romance novel style of ending romance or sex scenes scenes right before the best part.</p><p>When good parts start, it’s time to fade to black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jason/Tim - The Bodyguard’s Close Call

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been catching up with my Harlequin romances and that put me in the mood to try my hand at it myself (even though my stories are already pretty close as it is as far as AUs and goopy prose is concerned). Hence writing stories that kind of nod at different tropes used in Harlequin romance novels.
> 
> The titles for the stories are the titles for the books that each story would be from if they were part of actual Harlequin romance novels.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason takes close protection to a new level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble feels like what “so tell me what it feels like getting over" could have been like had I been midway through a stack of Harlequin romance novels at the start of writing it (and if it had been about Jason/Tim obviously). It also contains some non-explicit/implied sexual content.

The second that Jason pushes the hotel room door closed behind them, Tim whirls around with angry words already on the tip of his tongue and his hands set firmly on his narrow hips. Glaring at his bodyguard, Tim makes himself wait for Jason to  _look_  at him before he speaks in a sharp tone.

"Don’t you ever manhandle me like that again," Tim snarls, anger suffusing his face with heat as he scowls at his bodyguard.

Despite the several inches of difference between their respective heights, Tim refuses to back down; even when his bodyguard pulls himself up to his full height and glares down at him.

"Don’t make me remind you that I can take care of myself. Having a bodyguard was my parents’ idea. I never asked for one and I certainly didn’t ask to be grabbed like that!"

The instant that the words leave Tim’s mouth, the young billionaire wishes that he could take them back.

Not because he doesn’t mean them, but because there’s a part of him that does. It’s the part of his brain that has been panicking wildly since the first protester had grabbed for him on the way through the hotel lobby. He can’t listen to that part of his mind or else he’ll never get anything done while they’re in Star City.

It has been a long day.

Before the incident downstairs with the protestors and their small buckets of neon green paint, Tim had already been on the edge of snapping. Now, with the knowledge that he’s not even safe in a city on the other side of the country from Gotham, Tim can barely hold on to his hard-won resolve.

Tim sighs and stuffs his hands into the deep pockets of his suit trousers, trying to ground himself as Jason stands just off to the side of the door with a nigh unreadable look on his handsome face.

"I’m sorry for yelling," Tim says in a quiet voice after several seconds of silence passes and he realizes that he’s going to have to say  _something_ unless he wants to spend the rest of the night with Jason ignoring him. “I’m just — I thought I’d be safer here than in Gotham."

Tim tries to shrug and then winces when the motion makes the right sleeve of his suit jacket pull taut against his arm where true to his word, there is a painful bruise forming. The pain sobers him further. It reminds Tim that Jason is only doing his job despite how difficult Tim has been since the start of his assignment.

When Jason’s face remains impassive, Tim tries again to reach his bodyguard.

"I’m sorry, Jason," Tim says, taking a step forward before remember the bright paint splashed across the front of his suit. He stops after that single step and frowns at Jason, pursing his mouth as Jason continues to stand there and look through him as though he doesn’t even exist. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper with you. I was scared, Jason and I —"

"You think I wasn’t scared too, Tim?"

The first thing that Jason says to Tim after their encounter with the protesters busy making a nuisance is a question spoken in a quiet tone. The tone is what really gets to Tim.

In their months together, Tim has seen Jason in many different states. He’s seen the other man in a rage. He’s also seen Jason smile gently at children in the various hospital wings where Drake Industries’ biomedical department has a hand in studying and attempting to cure extremely dangerous diseases. But this quiet, very subdued tone of voice is new to Tim.

And he doesn’t like it one bit.

"You’re my bodyguard, Jason," Tim says in a low voice, his own tone dropping slightly. “You were with me when that kidnapper tried to get at me when we were in Bludhaven. You’ve seen worse than someone come after me with a bucket of paint."

Shaking his head, Jason utters a weary sigh that makes him seem older than he is. It’s the kind of sigh that makes Tim feel bad for everything he’s ever done.

"You don’t get it, Tim," Jason says. “What if that hadn’t been paint? What if there were more than two protestors? I can’t protect you if you insist on fighting me every single step of the way."

With his longer legs, when Jason takes a step forward, he winds up invading Tim’s personal space to the point where the front of his own paint-splattered suit brushes Tim’s own. “I’ve seen worse, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you get hurt. I’m your bodyguard, Tim, I -"

Tim sniffs disdainfully, effectively interrupting Jason’s sentence before he has the chance to finish it.

"I get it," he says, voice sharp and filled with a bitter note that Tim just can’t hide. He tells himself that it’s the smell of the paint on their clothes making his eyes burn instead of the emotion welling up in his chest. “You’re a bodyguard and what bodyguard would you be if people knew that you couldn’t keep such a high profile client safe? I get it, Jason. You really don’t need to explain it to me."

Jason shakes his head.

"I think I do," Jason says. “If you think that the only thing I’m thinking about is how my employment history will look if you get hurt, then you haven’t been paying attention at all."

Jason frowns at Tim, his lips forming a grim slash on his handsome face. He reaches for Tim and hauls him close before the other man has time to think. With their bodies pressed so tightly together and tacky green paint gluing the fronts of their suits together, there’s no distance between them to speak of and yet Tim doesn’t try to push Jason away.

Despite the tension between them (or perhaps,  _because_  of it), all Tim does is part his lips and sigh softly as though waiting for something.

"Oh," Tim breathes, voice catching as he feels the hot ridge of Jason’s groin press in against his own. “You mean —" Tim can’t seem to make himself say the words aloud. Even though he has had his fair share of lovers throughout the years, actually expressing himself around people that he cares about usually remains just out of reach until Tim is at his most desperate. “For how long?"

Instead of teasing him or pulling back, Jason nods and offers Tim a charmingly crooked smile.

"Since the first time I saw you trying to cheer your staff on," Jason admits in a warm, easy tone that has the obvious effect of making Tim shiver against him. “You could have gone home at any time, but you brought coffee and snacks for your lab techs."

Tim’s lips twitch up in a smile.

"Love at first sight, huh?"

After inclining his head and moving closer and closer until Tim can have no doubts as to what his next move will be, Jason licks his lips before answering Tim’s softly spoken question.

"Something like that," he admits in a low voice that is filled with heat.

After that, Jason kisses Tim deeply and all thoughts of talking and clarification go right out the window in favor of focusing on how right Jason’s hand feels on his hip and how much better it’ll feel on his bare skin.


	2. Bruce/Dick - Catch Me if You Want Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Bruce Wayne comes home to a surprising visitor in his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same universe with the Selina/Bruce/Dick relationship I allude to in [Chase](http://synphstories.tumblr.com/post/51198274320/chase-bruce-dick). This follows a Harlequin pattern/trope of law enforcement officials seeing the good in their quarry and getting just a little bit unprofessional with them. Safe for work.

Dick is so busy going through Bruce’s things that he doesn’t even notice that he’s no longer alone in the detective’s apartment until the other man flicks a switch and floods the room with bright light.

"You can’t be here," Dick blurts out, looking up from the photos spread out over the counter separating the living room from the small kitchen and dining area. “You’re not supposed to be here."

Quickly setting down the photo in his hand, Dick glances around Bruce’s small apartment in search of an exit that he can use for a quick escape. Unfortunately, with the windows shut tight against the fresh snow falling outside and Bruce standing in front of the only door, there’s nowhere for the young thief to go unless he wants to risk the rickety fire escape on the far side of the apartment.

Bruce shakes his head, frowning slightly as he watches Dick take several steps backwards.

“ _I_  can’t be here?" he asks; disbelief entering his deep voice. “It’s my apartment, Dick. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t arrest you right now." When Bruce takes a single step forward, Dick flinches and his hands go to his hips for a belt that he’s most definitely  _not_  wearing.  

"Looking for something," Bruce drawls, snagging the buckle for Dick’s utility belt and holding it up in front of him. The coins and keys inside the bag jingle as Bruce shakes it tauntingly at Dick. “I assume you won’t be leaving without this. Now that I have your attention, do you feel like telling me why you’re in my apartment going through my things?"

Dick shakes his head.

"You weren’t supposed to be home," he says sharply, lean body tensing as though preparing for a fight. “Give me back my belt. I don’t owe you a thing." Dick crosses his arms over the bulletproof material of his bodysuit and glares at the detective standing on the far side of the room by the door. “Besides, what’ll you charge me with?"

"Breaking and entering for starters," Bruce smirks.

"I have a key," Dick says sharply.

"That you stole when you picked my pocket earlier," Bruce points out in a droll tone. Before Dick can open his mouth to bark out a response, Bruce holds up one big hand to stop him from talking and then starts to stride forward. “You’re not talking your way out of this and this time, there’s no Catwoman to save you."

Dick eyes Bruce warily and glances about as though a weapon will suddenly appear to him. Unfortunately, Bruce’s kitchen is devoid of heavy objects he can hurtle. Unless Dick wants to brandish a loaf of French bread in front of him as a weapon, he’s shit out of luck.

"What do you want from me?" Mercifully, Dick’s voice doesn’t tremble as he speaks. Despite the fear that courses through him at the thought of Bruce arresting him, Dick makes himself stay calm and mostly still as Bruce actually _stalks_  toward him. “Are you that desperate to close your cases that you’ll take me in for  _this_?"

"I want an explanation," Bruce says sharply. “I know you two have hideaways all over the city. Why are you in  _my_  apartment when you could have been anywhere else in the city?"

Bruce’s tone rises at that, lifting until it’s almost a shout. He doesn’t lower his voice until he realizes that the man in front of him is all but  _petrified_ from fear.

"Shit," Bruce utters, breath blowing out of his mouth in an exasperated sigh. “You could have gone anywhere else. You could have gone to anyone else. Why me? Why here?" Dick lifts and drops his right shoulder in a half shrug.

"I don’t know," he mutters underneath his breath. “You weren’t supposed to be home and I just -" Dick pauses and rubs a hand over his stomach. “You spend so much time chasing after us and I guess I just wanted to see what kind of person you are."

There’s something about Dick’s position near the wall — with his shoulders hunched in slightly with one arm wrapped around his waist — that makes him appear extremely vulnerable to Bruce’s eyes. Bruce feels terrible instantly.

"How old are you," he asks, frowning at the thief standing in front of him.

Bruce knows the younger man’s most used alias from insults and conversations shouted across rooftops as Catwoman taunts Bruce with his incompetence. However, that’s as much as he knows about the young man standing across from him. He doesn’t know Dick’s age or his eye color or even what he does with the gems and coins that he helps Catwoman steal. Despite the fact that it’s his  _job_  to catch Dick and keep him from committing more crimes, there’s a part of his mind that wants to get to know Dick for more selfish reasons.  

If Dick seemed tense before, that’s nothing compared to how he stiffens up in response to Bruce’s innocuous question. Narrowing his eyes hard enough that the anger in his expression is visible despite his dark goggles, he snaps.

"I’m old enough," Dick barks, baring his teeth at Bruce in an almost feline snarl before falling silent with a sullen look twisting at his wide mouth. “I know what I’m doing and I don’t have to explain myself to  _you_."

Bruce bites back his initial response. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bruce sighs loudly as he tries to keep control on his temper.

"Yes you do," Bruce says eventually. “If you want to leave here without handcuffs, you’re going to have to talk. You can’t have been in my apartment because you’re  _nosy_."

"Shows what you know," Dick mutters as he scowls at Bruce.

"Oh yeah?" Bruce crosses his arms over his chest and scowls at Dick. “Do enlighten me."

Dick shakes his head.

"Go ahead and cuff me," Dick says with a dismissive wave of one hand. “Waste your time if you want. I’ll just break out like I always do." Trying to look as though he doesn’t care, Dick eyeballs Bruce openly and then huffs. “Why don’t you just let me go?"

"Go where," Bruce asks, honest curiosity shining through in his deep voice. “It’s snowing outside. Your suit may be bulletproof, but can it withstand the snow?" When the thief in front of him shrugs, Bruce sighs. “I can’t let you go out into the storm."

"You can’t keep me here," Dick bites out. “If you’re so worried about me freezing to death in the snow, then you can give me a coat and call it a night." Putting his hands on his hips, Dick scowls at Bruce. “But I’m not staying here with you."

Bruce resists the urge to throw his hands up in the air. The young man in front of him has been infuriating throughout Bruce’s time chasing him and Catwoman around Gotham, but he’s especially exasperating now. Standing in Bruce’s living room and trying to act as though he isn’t in the midst of breaking and entering, the young man’s refusal to give Bruce an inch with which to help him makes Bruce want to grind his teeth.

"What if I called a truce," Bruce says. He’s so desperate to keep the man in front of him from leaping out into the storm blowing around outside that he says the first thing that comes to mind. Even Dick who doesn’t know Bruce beyond their brief moments of flirting in between frantic chases across town can tell that Bruce is at his wits end. “You take the bed and I’ll take the couch. You can leave in the morning and I won’t chase after you until the next time you and your partner commit a crime."

Dick utters a snorting burst of laughter that makes his face light up.

"You’re a terrible cop," he says with a small smile on his face. “You’re not supposed to let your criminals go before you arrest them. Do you do this with everyone that you arrest?"

Bruce thinks back to the multiple times he’s had Catwoman in similar positions throughout the years and he finds himself smiling back at Dick.

"Only with you and your partner."

"Well that’s better, I guess," Dick says, relaxing visibly as he watches Bruce set down his utility belt on top of the counter with a dull clanking noise. “But if I’m spending the night, I can’t let you take the couch. It doesn’t look very comfortable. You can share the bed with me." Reaching one hand up to rub at his eyes and then pausing as though he’s forgotten about his goggles, Dick frowns. “If we have a truce, does that mean that I can take my mask off?"

Bruce blinks, stunned into silence for several moments. First, the offer to share a bed and now this—

"Are you sure —"

"You’re worried about me staying warm in the storm," Dick points out, smiling at Bruce as though the other man’s discomfort makes his own confidence increase in leaps and bounds. “Don’t you know that sharing a bed is the best way to keep warm? I’m sure your bed’s big enough for both of us."

Bruce blinks at Dick several times in quick succession.

"What about the mask? Are you sure that you trust me not to arrest you?"

Shrugging, Dick replies in a light and almost too-casual tone of voice.

"You’re a man of your word," he says. “And besides, it’s not fun to sleep with goggles on. I have a spare in my bag for times like this."


	3. Bruce/Talia - Not A Damsel in Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talia al Ghul is certainly not a damsel in distress. Bruce will learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is playing with a trope seen in books like Victoria Parker’s Princess in the Iron Mask where a princess leaves her position/runs away and it’s up to a handsome “knight" to come and rescue her and show her why the royal life is best.

Talia doesn’t want to like the knight that comes to rescue her.

For one thing, he hits Amira with a shield covered in the sigils of one of the noble houses from Albion. He hurts the jewel-hued dragon badly enough that she retreats to cower in one corner of her lair with the length of her glittering tail wound up around her abdomen. That alone should make Talia want to hurt the knight standing in the middle of her hoard as though she should thank him for his intrusion.

Crossing her arms over her plain green dress, Talia eyes the knight with a frown turning down her mouth.

"What gives you the right to come into  _my_  cave and hurt  _my_ dragon?"

Talia stays just out of reach of the knight’s sword and wishes for a weapon of her own —aside from her cutting words that is. “You didn’t even announce yourself. How was Amira supposed to defend herself? Or do you make a habit of hurting innocent creatures?"

The knight stammers something that comes out muffled by his helmet and Talia snorts inelegantly.

"Don’t tell me," she drawls. “My father told you that there was a princess to be saved and you rushed in to get the glory. Despite what my father would like people to believe, I’m not in need of any saving." Talia lets her gaze drift over the knight’s broad body, from the top of his plumed helmet down to the faintly black smudges of soot on the toes of his boots. “And if I did, it would certainly not be from someone like  _you_."

"I didn’t mean to hurt your dragon," the knight says in a tone of voice that sounds sullen. “I didn’t know— Your father said—"

Talia rolls her eyes.

"I know my father and I’ve seen your type before," she says, softening her tone somewhat. “You wanted to do good deeds and my father provided you with a way to do so, but I don’t want to go back to my father anytime soon."

"Why not?"

Ah.

A curious knight.

Those usually wind up being flame broiled within their clanking suits of armor. But Talia enjoys the novelty of someone that size acting as though she’s someone that he wants to listen to. Talia pushes her hair back out of the way and glances at where Amira is steady licking at her wounds. Aside from hunting their dinner, the dragon will be next to useless in the coming days and besides, if the knight wants to go back and tell Ra’s al Ghul all about how she lives with a cowardly dragon as a pet —

Well Amira can always broil him from a distance if things look as though they’ll turn that way.

"Come with me," Talia orders, ever imperious despite how long it’s been since anyone has called her a princess. She turns on her heel and starts to head in the direction of the makeshift stairs cut into one side of the rock face.

At the clanking noise of the knight’s armor following her nearly silent footfalls, Talia sighs and whirls around and jabs one long finger at his sooty breastplate.

"Take this off," she demands. “I’m sure you’re wearing smallclothes underneath this and I will kill you myself if I have to hear your armor clanking with every single step that you take."

The knight doesn’t argue. Instead, he strips silently, pulling off the parts of his heavy armor that he can on his own. When the knight reaches parts that give him difficulty, he sighs and curls his fingers into fists.

Talia decides to take pity on the poor man.

"Let me do it," Talia says, stepping forward and pulling at the leather straps that remain just out of reach of the knight’s thick fingers. All of Talia’s experience comes from pulling off the armor of knights that have tried and failed to rescue her and so she makes short work of the armor in front of her. By the time that she has the knight down to his linen smallclothes, Talia finds that her opinion of the knight standing in front of her has changed greatly.

"I think I should have your name before I invite you up to my room," Talia says as she stares at the sweat-dampened curls of the man’s black hair and his dark blue eyes. Broad enough that his muscles ripple with every movement, the knight in front of Talia is a veritable work of art. Compared to all the knights that came before him, this one has promise.

At the very least, he doesn’t seem like the other louts that come to save Talia from herself.

The knight jolts backward, twin pinpricks of red coming across his cheekbones as he flushes, and then drops into an incredibly formal bow. When he returns to standing, there’s a faint smile on his face.

"Forgive me for not introducing myself further, princess," he says in a deep rumbling voice that puts Talia in mind of Amira when the dragon is half asleep and grumbling. “I am Bruce of the House of Wayne. Your father sent word of your capture and I —"

Shaking her head, Talia sighs.

"You decided to try your hand at rescuing a princess." Before Bruce can do more than stammer excuses, Talia turns and starts walking towards the steps.

"I’m not holding your nobility against you, Bruce," she says, calling out at the knight over her shoulder when he continues to stand there and stare at her with the faintest hint of worry on his face. “I’ve decided to let you stay for the moment, now don’t make me regret asking you up here."

After that, Bruce can’t move fast enough.

"May I ask why your father wants you back so badly," Bruce says as he follows behind Talia at a reasonable pace. “The reward was — It was substantial. I understand why so many knights set out to find you, but why —" Bruce’s sentence ends abruptly when Talia stops. He nearly bumps into her when he doesn’t notice that she’s no longer walking.

"My father has very strong thoughts of what proper princesses should do with their lives," Talia says in a low voice. “With my sister doing her best to run the army in the south, all of his hopes of further alliance-building fall to me." Talia frowns. “Do you know how many marriages he tried to arrange for me before I left?"

Bruce blinks down at Talia, his thin-lipped mouth parting with surprise.

"You ran away from an arranged marriage?"

"Wouldn’t you," she fires back, rolling her eyes at Bruce before starting back on climbing the wide and roughly hewn stairs that lead to the comfortable enough cave that overlooks the hoard. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind so much if I had any say in things, but you’ve met my father. I’m certain that you noticed how much he likes to be right."

Talia’s response is glib even though Bruce’s question makes her want to frown, and stop, and do several other things that are most unbecoming for a princess.

Talia’s room isn’t exactly a room.

Set up more like a balcony, layers of thick furs cover the stretch of rough stone that overlooks the glittering gold of the dragon’s hoard on the ground floor. However far a cry it is from her room in her father’s palace, Talia likes that she has something that’s all hers. She drops down to the ground and sighs softly, pulling her legs up underneath her body and spreading her dress over the striped furs covering the stone.

"Will you sit with me?" Talia could probably get away with using a commanding tone on Bruce, but the knight in front of her is so unlike the other knights that have tried and failed to return her to her father’s stifling palace that she changes her mind at the last moment. “I won’t leave with you, of course, but you’ve come all the way from Albion and fought a dragon besides. A comfortable place to rest until I send you on your way is good enough."

Bruce inclines his head in a shallow nod before moving to kneel before Talia.

"You’re happy here?"

Talia gestures at the piles of gold and jewels that make up her dragon’s hoard.

"I have gold and a dragon willing to fight to protect me," she says as Amira picks herself up and starts meandering in the direction of her hoard. “And I have freedom which was sorely lacking in my father’s palace."

"And you are safe here?"

"Have you ever heard a knight bragging about seeing my face before?" Talia asks. “I’m safer than I was in the palace even if I do have to work hard for the privilege."

Bruce has to concede the point.

"Is there anything that I can do," he offers. “There’s a town not far from here and if you need anything, I’m certain that I can —" The sound of Talia’s husky laughter interrupts Bruce.

"You’re sweet," she says with a smile on her face. Lifting one hand up to the heavy fall of dark brown hair that spills over the front of her simple dress, Talia starts to play with her hair. “I wouldn’t mind it if you took me into town in the morning."

"In the morning?"

Talia’s smile deepens and she lets Bruce see the heat in her gaze.

"Unless you have to return to my father immediately, I don’t see why you can’t keep my company. Amira is a lovely friend, but we have trouble understanding each other on our best days, you see." When Bruce continues to look at her with his mouth half-open, Talia clarifies. “Unless you have any objections, I want you to spend the night. With me."

 


	4. David/Dick - His Consort's Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, Richard remains a hard person to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This plays with the trope of the growly, dominant "foreign" noble trope popular in Harlequin romance novels. Instead of being a hardheaded lout, David wants what's best for his country _and_ his consorts. Whenever I used to read the books with the sultans and sheikhs, I always wondered why they were so... flat but also why they were so mean to their future consorts. So I wanted to play with that idea a bit.
> 
> Also: This story contains an implied (but loving) relationship between David/Kia/Dick

"You're working yourself half to death," Richard says without waiting for David to look up from his papers. "Tinasha will survive if you take a single night off. Come to our rooms before I have to drag you there myself." When his king grunts noncommittally and proceeds to ignore him in favor of the papers spread out in front him on top of his desk, Richard rolls his eyes and moves to sit on the edge of that desk.

"I know you can hear me, David."

When David finally looks up from his work several minutes later, he jolts; blinking as though he's surprised to see his consort perching on the edge of his desk.

"Richard, I didn't notice you there." He reaches for his consort. Dark fingers standing out against the nearly see-through fabric of the other man's pale blue trousers as he curls his fingers in against the glittering waistband of Richard's trousers just underneath the sparkling string of jewels dangling from a piercing at his navel. "Forgive me?"

Richard can't stay mad at his king. Not for very long and certainly not after a long day spent without his lover's presence around him. He smiles at David and then reaches out to briefly entwine his fingers with David's own before reaching up to brush over his lover's shoulder.

 "I'll think about it," Richard says in a teasing tone. "But first, I think it's time you to retire. I already asked the staff to run a bath for us." Richard curls his fingers in against David's broad shoulder, rubbing at the tense muscles that he can feel underneath the deep blue fabric of his king's tunic until David sighs and slumps back in his chair. "We should go before the water gets cold and it has to be thrown out."

David hates waste. He cringes at the thought of wasting anything, be it the food that the palace kitchen cooks throughout the day or the water that they use for their baths. Due to a royal command, the extra food finds itself in the bellies of the people that live around the palace, but recycling bathwater is far from easy.

"Will you at least allow me to finish my work before you pull me away?" David musters a smile for his consort, but weariness makes the expression wilt around the edges underneath Richard's stern gaze. "I have my duties --"

Richard doesn't allow David a chance to finish speaking.

"And they will be there in the morning," he says in a firm tone. "Before she left, Kia told me to make sure that you didn't spend the whole night sitting up in front of your desk. Now come let me take care of you."

When Richard tugs at the sleeve of David's tunic, he smiles when the other man rises to his feet to tower over him. Perched as he is on the edge of the desk, Richard is at the perfect point to reach out and pull David to stand in between his legs.

"I thought you wanted to take a bath," David says a second later as Richard's nose pokes in against his collarbone. He gets his fingers in Richard's dark hair, in the wavy black mass that has escaped the sloppy tail that usually hangs partway down his back. The hair goes well with Richard's diaphanous garments as well as his golden skin and David finds himself wishing that he had more time during the day to show his consort how much he appreciates him.

Richard utters a quiet noise against David's skin.

"That can wait a little," he says in a soft tone that seems somewhat out of place for how outspoken Richard has been throughout their relationship. "I hate seeing you work yourself to the bone, David. Kia and I don't want you being so hard on yourself."

"I'm not being hard on myself," David says in a tone that echoes sharply through the air. "I have a kingdom to run and I can't do that if I'm constantly relaxing in bed." David makes to pull away from Richard, but then stops when his consort's arms wind around his body to hold him steady. "Let me go, Richard."

Richard shakes his head and frowns against David's collar.

"I haven't seen you all day," he says in a fast rush of words as though he fears that David will push him away if he doesn't speak fast enough. "I know you have your duties. Kia and I do as well, but we make time for each other and we want -- we want you to do the same for us." Richard clutches at the fabric of David's tunic and presses his mouth in against the bit of David's skin revealed by the gap in his unbuttoned shirt. "Forgive me, David, it's just that with Kia spending the summer at Oxford, somehow I see even less of you."

For several long moments, David finds himself at a loss for words. Finally, he says, "I didn't know --"

"Of course you didn’t," Richard sighs. "We didn't want you to, but I couldn't help myself. You've been working well into the night all week and when you do sleep, it's here at your desk instead of your rooms." He starts to rub one hand over David's side. "Take tonight off and let me take care of you."

David glances at the piles of papers on his desk then pulls back slightly so that he can look at the hopeful look on Richard's face.

"I suppose that the council could do more work than what it currently does," David says as he holds Richard's body close to his. "I'll bring it up in sessions tomorrow."

"You promise?"

When David nods, Richard makes a happy noise and surges up to smack a fast, noisy kiss to his partially opened mouth.

"So we can bathe together tonight?"

"And every night that you and Kia want after that," David says, smiling underneath the full force of his consort's happiness. He ducks his head and kisses Richard, this time drawing their kiss out until Richard whimpers against his mouth and his fingers flex restlessly against his shoulders. David steps out from between Richard's spread legs and offers his hand even though Richard can get off the desk just fine on his own. "Shall we go?"


End file.
